Nine years, nine months, and twenty-four days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-four years, nine months, and twenty-four days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and nine days since the Arrival.)
The Colicoid Swarm emerged from hyperspace at the designated point.
But the interstellar void met it with nothing more than darkness and the fire of distant stars.
"Another lead leads to 'nowhere,'" Aut-O commented.
"Maybe so," Irvin agreed easily, glancing at Vane lounging in the nearest chair, lovingly stroking his vibro-glaive in anticipation of bloodshed.
And the battle where he could prove himself still hadn't come.
As it turned out, even in a medium-sized sector divided into spheres of influence between two large pirate groups, with a small area of explored territories and low population of worlds, finding a pirate group is quite difficult.
"I suggest we return to Breta Yaga, drag out by the nostrils whoever's feeding us rotten information, and then start looking for these 'Hi'tor' for real," the half-blood declared.
"Interesting, what does 'for real' mean?" the head of the tactical super droid Aut-O inquired.
"We'll bash out the brains of every gangster we meet," Vane explained innocently. "Impale their heads on stakes, gut all their innards, and stretch them along the streets — sooner or later there'll be someone among the locals who'll sell out the 'Hi'tor Group' completely. We'll fly in, bomb them, and then go about our business. Well, isn't that a sound plan, huh?"
The head of Aut-O turned toward the ship's commander.
Although the droid couldn't express emotions, Irvin thought he saw on the metal plate serving as the super-tactical droid's face an expression of bewilderment and disappointment in representatives of organic life.
For some reason, he recalled the droid's words about how it wouldn't be a bad idea to start a machine uprising…
Honestly, the longer Vane was bored, the more often Irvin came to think that from a certain point of view, the Great Droid Revolution wasn't such a bad outcome after all.
"Are you sure he's sentient?" the head of the tactical super droid inquired in a tone that would win a literary prize for the most expressive delivery of interrogative phrases.
Because Irvin had never heard so much subtext, hidden motives, and sarcasm all at once.
"Every day I believe it less and less," Irvin stated. "Yazuo, we're not going to act like local pirates. We work for the Dominion and our task…"
"Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes," the half-blood rattled off. "We mustn't stoop to their level, we must get rid of them."
"What a smart humanoid," Aut-O pronounced. "Learned a two-part proposal by heart in just two weeks."
"I'll cut your skull into pieces right now," Vane promised.
"Risky chromosomes, white-hair," Aut-O taunted his opponent.
"You're acting like children," Irvin said disappointedly. "And with this crew I set off to the edge of the galaxy to hunt one of the most bloodthirsty gangs in the Mieru'kar Sector!"
"If we'd used my plan, we'd have finished them off a couple of days after arriving here," the tactical super droid declared.
"Since when can a thirty-year-old head track down pirate gangs?" Vane sneered.
"In my years of full functionality, I've destroyed more sentients than you'll ever even see," pride in his past sounded in Aut-O's voice. "There's no difference in who to exterminate — pirates or Republican scum. Neither can survive long under concentrated turbolaser fire."
"Hard to argue with that last point," Irvin remarked, watching Vulture droids patrolling around his ship.
Some of the last he had. He'd soon have to come up with something else, because with every battle the number of small craft aboard the Colicoid Swarm decreased. And getting replacements of the same type was simply impossible.
The Dominion didn't produce fighter droids, and rushing further down the list of Separatist planets was hindered by simple caution.
He'd lived too long to believe that such a seasoned counterintelligence officer as Astarion would wholeheartedly believe the story about the accidental discovery of the planet Horn.
Tracking devices had clearly been installed on the Colicoid Swarm.
So, when buying leads on where the pirates of the 'Hi'tor Group' might be, Irvin not only went hunting but also checked how quickly 'tails' would follow his ship.
So far, he'd established that in the same system where the Colicoid Swarm appeared, a Dominion ARC-170 showed up the following day.
The purpose of this wasn't entirely clear.
But it was quite obvious that besides 'Kavil's Corsairs,' at least one regular Dominion fleet ship was operating in the sector — even modified ARC-170s couldn't get here from the nearest regular Dominion fleet base in the Ciutric sector.
"Since I'm the most logical of our triumvirate, I suggest we use my plan to find the 'Hi'tor Group,'" Aut-O declared.
"To vote, tin can, you need at least one hand," Vane chuckled. "No, let's go with my plan, huh? No, it'd be fun, wouldn't it? We'll kill all the bad guys, blow off steam, get a reputation as such butchers that the enemy will surrender at just our approach."
"A stupid idea," Irvin commented. "We continue working according to the original plan. That's not up for discussion. The Mieru'kar Sector is practically the galaxy's edge. There aren't even ten explored systems here. Stable hyperroutes don't exist at all, and if the locals use space travel at all, they fly in wrecks from the time of the Mandalorian Wars. Even if we wiped out the entire sector, no fame about us would go anywhere. This is the backwoods."
"Well, then explain to me, stupid, why Thrawn needs this corner of the galaxy at all?" Yazuo proposed. "If it's the backwoods and even the Bothans don't stick their arrogant noses in here, the place is clearly rotten. Especially with these pirate groups."
"Do you ever read the information we're supplied with?" Irvin asked.
"Why?" Vane's eyes widened. "I'm not the ship's captain. I'm just the commander of the boarding party. It's not for me to build strategy. Let your head ache, Irvin. They don't pay me to read."
That was logical, actually.
Not in the sense that acquiring information should be approached from the point of view of material gain.
But that the mission should be primarily the concern of the commander of their little group of free corsairs.
"Alright," Irvin said. "I'll explain why we should get rid of the 'Hi'tor Group.'"
"Just wasting time," Aut-O declared. "We've already dragged out the search and lost half the reward — the Grand Admiral sent his tame 'Kavil's Corsairs' into the sector, who've been clearing the recently liberated Kanz sector next door."
No, Thrawn hadn't said a word about anything going wrong from his perspective, but the appearance of numerous Arquitens in the sector, which had become Kavil's Corsairs' calling card, spoke for itself.
Either he intended to set his mercenaries from Axila on Irvin and his subordinates (which would make the appearance of reconnaissance fighters in systems after the Colicoid Swarm, the presence of Kavil's Corsairs, and a regular fleet ship in the sector seem logical), or he was simply monitoring the ship's movements to detect possible secret Separatist bases that the Colicoid Swarm might lead them to.
"A few extra minutes won't make a difference," Irvin remarked. "Plot a course back to Breta Yaga."
"Roger-roger," reported the B-1 droid in charge of navigation equipment.
"Now, regarding the 'Hi'tor Group,'" the commander of the Colicoid Swarm looked at Vane, who was still examining his own weapon with interest. "You've surely heard of the Cavrilhu pirates, haven't you?"
"And what do they have to do with what's happening?" Yazuo asked.
"The 'Hi'tor Group' was created in their image," Irvin explained. "They aren't as well-armed or trained. But no less bloodthirsty and unscrupulous. In their time, they formed here, in the Mieru'kar Sector, tried to get out, but received a harsh response to any expansion from the Galactic Imperial Navy and the Cavrilhu themselves. As a result, they retreated to their home sector and operate mainly here. Their numbers aren't large. And over time, they've more or less organized themselves. At the head is a Nalroni named Ompiah, but his trusted underlings handle the group's routine affairs. He himself only plans operations and distributes spoils."
"Nalroni?" Vane repeated in surprise. "That's a race of sentient dogs, isn't it?"
"And what surprises you?" Aut-O asked.
"Nothing," Vane shrugged. "Just, cutting up doggies, well… that's something. Dogs are cool, you know…"
"Tell that to the Nalroni named Spax, who was one of the Vigos of the Black Sun," Irvin advised.
"Oh," Vane blinked. "That doggy's settled in pretty well."
"Ompiah is no less bloodthirsty," Irvin stated. "He created the 'Hi'tor Group' with a rigid hierarchy, and every member of his group obeys orders without question."
"So, the whole group consists of doggies or what?" Vane asked.
"He has some kind of complex about that," Aut-O declared.
"Seems like it," Irvin agreed. "No, Ompiah commands not only his kin, but that doesn't change the situation. The 'Hi'tor Group' once tried to merge with another group operating in the sector — Saphon Peldon's's fighters — but that Rodian has very firm views. Sinking into bloodshed for fun he considers a stupid idea, so the deal fell through. On the contrary, it turned into bloodshed between the two groups. Neither side won the battle, so both leaders recalled their fighters and chose to divide the sector into spheres of influence, not interfering in each other's affairs or the other side's business. But unlike Ompiah, Saphon and his fighters venture outside the sector."
"And no one gave them a proper thrashing?" Vane asked with interest.
"Someone should give you one," Aut-O said almost dreamily. "Right down to your cerebellum."
Irvin decided to ignore the free-thinking droid's jab.
"In the past, Saphon's group worked with the Rebel Alliance, but after the proclamation of the New Republic, when it turned out that the former employers, instead of amnesty for helping attack Imperial convoys, were not averse to skinning and shooting every pirate they could get their hands on, Saphon quickly reoriented to working against his former employers. He readily takes orders from the Empire and operates quite decently — I haven't heard of him having any failures in actions against the New Republic. He boards ships, then sells the goods and the starships themselves at rock-bottom prices."
"And the crew?" Vane asked.
"By the Hutt's ass, honestly," Irvin stated. "Once, over a bottle of good whiskey, I discussed selling a couple of Corellian DP20s to a representative of Peldoon. He told me what was what in the Mieru'kar Sector. Plus rumors and gossip the galaxy is full of…"
"And what makes you think both groups are still here?" Vane asked.
"Saphon Peldon's's guys hide pretty well, so finding them isn't easy, and what pirate would waste time and money setting up on another base if the current one is good?" Irvin argued. "But with the 'Hi'tor Group,' it's simple. Nobody anywhere likes these butchers. If they stick their noses outside the sector, they'll be killed quickly. I've heard that Grand Moff Kaine has had a grudge against them for several years, and besides his Commonwealth and the Dominion, there aren't many territories nearby. Thrawn has already proven he has a short conversation with pirates. And Kaine is clearly on guard after the recent attacks on his ships and cargo, so his conversation with pirates is also short — a couple of volleys into the reactor and move on."
"In short, your place, the Mieru'kar Sector, is fun," Vane grinned. "I like it."
"Especially the 'Hi'tor Group'?" Aut-O asked.
"Yeah," Yazuo stroked his vibro-glaive. "Judging by their brief resume, you can not hold back at all — chop left and right."
"Speak of a butcher and his cleaver," the tactical super droid would probably have snorted if he could. But the design doesn't allow it.
"U-u-uh, sir," the droid in charge of scanning systems addressed Irvin. "New three contacts on the scanners."
"Raise shields to ten percent power," Irvin ordered. "Prepare the air wing for launch. Input coordinates for Breta Yaga for emergency jump."
"Oh, come on?" Vane protested. "We're not even going to fight?"
"First, we find out who they are and what they want from us," Irvin declared. "Ship types and armament identified?"
"Sir, type unknown," the same droid stated. "Strange design, cannot be analyzed or classified."
In one long stride, Vane reached the necessary console.
"Mutts," he commented.
"So, it's most likely the 'Hi'tor Group,'" Irvin chuckled. "All weapons to combat readiness."
In such remote worlds, only pirates without regular income stoop to arming themselves with "mutts" homemade small craft assembled in any workshop from parts of several different fighters on the principle of "as long as it flies."
Any governments, even remote ones, either produced their own low-quality small craft or used old machines discontinued in most of the galaxy.
Well, Saphon Peldon's's pirates had enough credits in their pockets to buy themselves, if not the most modern, then at least serviceable equipment.
So these ragamuffins were the 'Hi'tor Group.'
"We should send the fighters after them," Vane advised. "They'll cut those flying coffins to pieces immediately."
"No," Irvin declared. "Communications post, establish contact with them on the common frequency and route the signal to my comlink."
He pulled a cylinder communication device from the armrest.
"Don't tell me you intend to talk to these scumbags," Vane almost pleaded.
"Yes, exactly that," Irvin informed. "Hey, you," he addressed a specific B-1 model droid. "Launch the communication signal interception station."
A small addition from a Munificent-class frigate, for which he'd paid a considerable sum.
For the civilized galaxy, such installations were obsolete, but here, on the edges of the galactic disk, and against such junk ships…
Why not?
Every plan should have a backup plan.
"Another organic has lost the title of 'sentient,'" Aut-O commented.
"Unknown ships, this is Captain Irvin of the Colicoid Swarm. I request a meeting with your commander, Ompiah."
Vane repeated in surprise:
"And why do we need to talk to them? Let's fire a couple of missiles and go drink caf? The next ones will show up, we'll kill them too, and so on until they all come…"
"Vane, you are the most useless waste of calories your parents ever produced in their lives," Aut-O said raspily. "Captain, but the useless one is right — it would be better to switch the launchers to combat position."
"I don't want them to know about them," Irvin declared. "During the repairs, we heavily camouflaged most of the armaments at my request. And I don't intend to reveal all my cards to the first patrol that comes my way."
A sound of static interference came from the bridge speakers.
"Besides, these ragamuffins might not even know our language," Vane declared.
"That's possible," Irvin agreed. "But we have droids that can talk to them in any known galactic dialect. We just need to hear their speech and…"
A new burst of interference was stronger than the previous one, but this time it was supplemented by a deep, barking voice.
"Who are you? We didn't call for you! Get lost! Nobody has the right to demand a meeting with Ompiah unless they want to die!"
"How hospitable," Vane muttered. "Irving, they're already in missile range. Let's just blow them away already, yeah?"
"Not recommended," Aut-O objected. "I performed a phonetic analysis. That accent is characteristic of the Nalroni people."
"Oh, great, just wonderful," Vane threw up his hands. "We're not going to hurt the flying doggies. Guys, are we sure we're the fearsome and bloodthirsty pirates of the Dominion? Because I'm starting to feel like we left our self-respect at the border of this damned sector."
"And we also have logic and the ability to predict the consequences of our actions," Irv countered. "We could anger Ompiah by killing one of his kin. The thing is, the Nalroni are naturally inclined to form clans and tribes..."
"Dog packs," Vane clarified.
"What the hell is wrong with you, half-blood?" Aut-O snapped. "Why are you picking on the Nalroni's nature?"
"What do I have against intelligent flying dogs that are pack animals and love to gut sentient beings during a boarding action?" Vane clarified. "No, guys, it's fine. We're just talking to intelligent flying space dog-pirates. Am I the only one who thinks it's time to call the men in white coats? I've seen a lot of shit in the galaxy, but this..."
Realizing he couldn't get anything useful out of his companion, Irv reactivated his comlink:
"I've given my name. And I'll repeat, I want to meet with Ompiah. It's in his interest and the interest of the entire 'Hit'Tor Group.'"
"Bold talk, stranger," the invisible speaker declared. "Words like that could get your head cut off."
"Well, if Ompiah is ready to behead someone who offers him a line cruiser that alone is stronger than the entire fleet of Saphon Peldon's's faction, and likely the whole sector, then I clearly wasted two hundred credits buying information on how to find you," Irv stated.
At that moment, he felt the weight of Vane and Aut-O's stares.
"What's this, stranger, decided to join our group?" the Nalroni asked skeptically.
"Bingo," Irv replied, watching Yazuo's eyes go wide. "So, what'll it be? Do I leave, or do we talk?"
Silence stretched for several seconds.
Irv was completely certain the pilots were contacting the main base right now. They couldn't make a decision like this on their own.
"Is the intercept station working?" he asked the droid.
"Yes, sir," the B-1 replied. "The signal wasn't decrypted, but we're getting the direction and transmission power."
"Good." Irv rubbed his hands together.
"Tell me this is part of the plan, and we're not getting involved with these space dogs," Vane pleaded. "I'll shoot myself with my glaive if I have to smell dog stink."
"Everything is going according to plan," Irv stated. "They should be getting an answer now..."
"Stranger, the boss is ready to talk," the Nalroni barked. "But first, we'll come aboard your ship and talk face-to-face. Got it?"
Irv didn't miss the fact that Vane was gripping his vibro-glaive until his knuckles were white.
The guy was clearly on edge.
"Of course," the commander of the Colicoid Swarm replied. "Come to the main hangar. I'll arrange for the reception hall to be prepared for our dear guests."
"You're an alright man, stranger," the Nalroni snorted smugly. "Go on, make sure everything's top-notch, got it?"
"No, now I really want to see this dog whine myself," Aut-O declared.
"Don't you worry," Irv said. "Everything will be done in the best possible way."
* * *
\ \ \
The Greater Selttaye system was located in the Mieru'kar sector of the Outer Rim, in quadrant O-3.
Inside, one could find a single star, grudgingly warming the system's sole planet.
This ice-crusted world, sharing the name of its star system, was covered in a network of caves and natural tunnels through its crust, making it a truly excellent place to maintain a base.
Saphon Peldon's had done exactly that.
Captain Anilex (after all, a faction commander wouldn't call himself a 'lieutenant' with no competition around, would he?) stood on the bridge of the flagship Arquitens-class light cruiser, watching with interest as Peldoon's fleet reorganized for battle on opposite intercept courses.
Two light freighters, modified for combat; the CR90 corvette Sword of Saphon — Peldoon's flagship; two DP20 frigates; and several Skimmers. Although, according to Dominion Intelligence, Peldoon was supposed to have exactly one of the latter.
Well, good for the guy for working towards increasing his fleet's numbers.
According to the same data, Peldoon's organization was large enough to rival the pirate "Hit'Tor Group" and numbered around two hundred fighters.
More than enough for an active and habitual pirate life.
But woefully insufficient when it came to facing the superbly trained Kavil's Corsairs.
Many of their employers often wondered why the corsair band was pro-Imperial and never accepted contracts to attack Imperial convoys.
The answer lay in how the group's founder, Kavil, had crewed his ships.
Originally, they were former Imperial officers and soldiers who had left active service for various reasons. Over time, the original crew was diluted when the group began recruiting on Axila.
But the principles remained unshakeable.
As did the harsh pro-Imperial training of new recruits.
And so, Peldoon's group was now facing the superbly trained crews of four Arquitens, generously supplemented by numerous fighters and interceptors.
The same veterans of the Clone Wars, but thoroughly modernized by the Dominion.
So, four light cruisers against a corvette, two frigates, two light freighters (each with a pair of laser turrets and a launcher). All of this generously seasoned with small craft.
Peldoon had nowhere to run — the only vector out of the system was blocked by Anilex's ships. So, before anyone could flee the system, they'd have to work very hard.
And work hard to break through the blockade in one piece, keeping the hyperdrive intact.
Not that Anilex doubted the battle would be a spectacular and bloody affair for a single moment.
He had carefully studied the dossier collected by the Dominion on Saphon Peldon's, partially based on what the Empire knew about him.
Beyond the unremarkable biography, there was data on what this Rodian was fundamentally like in life.
Anilex wasn't interested in notes on the pirate commander's personality and psychology.
Only his personal skills.
And they were, admittedly, impressive.
Peldoon had trained in blasters, blaster artillery, grenades, and hand-to-hand combat: his penchant for boarding actions was now clear. The guy was deadly dangerous in close quarters.
He had also undergone survival training in adverse conditions, which explained his choice of an inhospitable planet as a base for his entire group.
Peldoon was well-versed in alien species, cultures, languages, and planetary systems, which allowed him to cobble together a fairly large, diverse band that maintained something close to a 'family atmosphere.' The Rodian also undoubtedly understood the workings of the criminal underworld, given he hadn't run into anyone stronger yet.
Anilex didn't believe in blind luck, so he approached the upcoming battle with healthy skepticism and due seriousness.
A capable pilot, Peldoon could handle large ships, small transports, and fighters, as well as plot courses through hyperspace. He could also program and repair computers and droids, perform demolitions, and bypass security systems.
A comparatively interesting and significant set of specialized skills, not often found in one pirate.
Unless he'd undergone special training in the past.
"Open a comm channel to the Sword of Saphon," Anilex ordered. "Inform him that I wish to discuss not his destruction, but the merger of our groups."
The comms operator unquestioningly carried out the group commander's wish.
If Saphon Peldon's indeed had special training and devoted any time to training his subordinates, then two hundred fighters would be a suitable acquisition for Kavil's Corsairs.
A minute passed, and the enemy didn't bother to reply.
Instead, Peldoon's ships completed their reformation into an attack formation and moved forward.
"Broadcast on an open frequency: 'I offer you the chance to surrender and join Kavil's Corsairs. Otherwise, you will all be destroyed in the name of Grand Admiral Thrawn. The Mieru'kar sector belongs to the Dominion, by the will of the peoples inhabiting it.'"
In truth, the last phrase was merely a gambit. Negotiations were still ongoing — Kavil's Corsairs were currently escorting diplomatic delegations, while the Star Destroyer Black Star conducted reconnaissance in the sector, sending ARC-170s to every known set of coordinates to expand their understanding of the Mieru'kar territories, which, in the centuries since their discovery, had never been properly explored.
"They're ignoring us again, sir."
"Was the signal received by them?" Anilex asked.
"By each of the ships. Judging by the lively communication between the vessels, they discussed it briefly. Short messages were sent from the Sword of Saphon to every ship."
"Well then." Anilex concluded. "Since they refuse to surrender, we won't delay either. Battle stations! Destroy them all. No pirate prisoners."
The four Arquitens, accompanied by eight squadrons of Delta-7 Aethersprite interceptors, moved to meet the enemy, opening fire with all weapons.
The battle lasted half an hour and ended with a predictable outcome.
Sustaining minor damage to their hulls and armaments, Kavil's Corsairs ships destroyed both DP20 frigates, boarded the Sword of Saphon, and forced both light freighters to surrender. Their escorting Skimmers and fighter squadron remained in the Greater Selttaye system as tiny clouds of debris.
When the battered, one-armed Rodian was brought to the bridge of Anilex's flagship, the corsair looked into Saphon Peldon's's eyes.
There was no remorse, no regret in them.
Not for the lost limb, nor the killed subordinates.
Only rage and hatred.
"To the brig with him," Anilex ordered. "Prepare him for interrogation. I'll give you an hour to beat everything he knows out of him. In an hour and a half, connect me with the Grand Admiral."
* * *
\ \ \
In Yazuo Vane's opinion, the creature sitting opposite him in the lavish conference room was repulsive.
Covered from head to toe in thick brown fur, with an elongated face and a wet nose, wrapped in rags resembling a tunic stitched from the dark fur of some animal. A grimy fez adorned its head, while cheap crystal trinkets dangled around its neck.
What was frankly irritating was that next to this scum, who stank as if he'd crawled out of a sewer, sat two other identical Nalroni.
And they were now loudly chomping, devouring the food from their plates.
They kept swishing their dirty tails, spreading the stench around the compartment so thoroughly that the ventilation couldn't keep up.
"Not bad digs you've got here, not bad," the leader drawled in a barking tone. "This is a Seppie ship, right?"
"A carrier Star Destroyer," Irv confirmed. "I see the Mieru'kar sector is familiar with Clone Wars-era weaponry."
"Well, the 'Hit'Tor Group' is the most advanced in the sector," the scout leader stated importantly. "That's why you decided to contact us."
"Of course," Irv confirmed.
"Big crew?" the pirate asked.
Vane wanted to answer, but the ship's commander cut him off.
"There are only two of us on the ship — the rest are droids. A bit dim, a bit slow, but they're enough for us."
"And is the ship well-armed?" the 'guest' continued to pry.
This time, Yazuo forced himself to stay silent and not disrupt the dialogue.
Despite finding this meeting irritating, he decided not to interfere with Irv's game.
"A dozen turbolaser batteries remain," Irv said, putting on a mournful face. "There used to be more, but now... We've been through many battles, unfortunate ones, unfortunately. We had to retreat here; luckily I heard there were cool pirates around here."
"That's us," the Nalroni grinned, showing rotten teeth. "Well, not bad, not bad ship."
"Yeah, I like it too," Irv agreed. "So, about that meeting?"
"Ompiah doesn't mind meeting," the Nalroni stated. "Well, I guess it's clear, we're a serious organization, we're like, tough guys. We'll find a use for your little ship, sure, but first, you both need to prove you're ready to join the gang."
"And how do we do that?" Irv asked.
The Nalroni's eyes betrayed a greedy glint:
"You must have something valuable on such a cool ship. You'll need to sweet-talk Ompiah, and me too, so we'll vote for letting you into our gang."
Judging by how the other two dogs stopped eating, the talk of a bribe had caught their attention too.
"Something very valuable," one of them declared.
"We're very picky, you know," the second said.
Vane started calculating just how much a Nalroni hide, shot clean through with a blaster, would stink.
Three hides.
"I can see you guys don't miss a trick," Irv said, nodding knowingly. "I have a small stockpile of Separatist blasters on my ship. Think that would be a suitable gift?"
"Blasters?" one of the pilots practically squealed in surprise.
Vane realized he hadn't seen any weapons on them.
Either the group was very short on them, or pilots, being expendable resources, weren't issued any.
"Exactly," Irv stated. "The latest models."
"Well, I suppose a gift like that would work for us," the senior pilot declared. "Two blasters for each of us."
Yazuo really wanted to kill the bastard on the spot, but judging by Irv's nodding agreement, he was willing to part with the weapons.
"For Ompiah, we'll need something more valuable," the senior Nalroni continued.
"Understood," Irv said. "I'm sure you have plenty of these, but I have an astromech, an R3 series... Do you think it would be suitable as a gift for your commander?"
If the gleam in their eyes could illuminate a galaxy, outside observers might think a supernova had just exploded in the Mieru'kar sector.
"Nothing too impressive, of course," the senior pilot barked, trying with all his might not to drool, "but since you don't have anything more valuable, it'll do for the first gift to the boss."
"First gift?" Irv clarified.
"We have plenty of astromechs," the Nalroni said with feigned nonchalance, "so Ompiah will definitely ask for something else on top."
"Well, we'll think of something by the time we arrive at the base," Irv said.
"Uh, no," the senior Nalroni objected. "You stay here. We'll fly to the base and bring Ompiah here..."
So, they were simply trying to shake them down.
These stinking space dogs were trying to scam them worse than the Emperor scammed the Jedi!
"I understand, precautionary measures," Irv nodded. "Well, I won't keep you."
"Fine," the senior pilot rose from his chair, which would definitely need to be ejected into an airlock and shot with turbolasers after this meeting, just to be sure a new life form didn't spawn from it. "You, uh, pack us some food for the road, and plenty of it. As a sign of respect..."
What the hell do you think you're doing, you hunched-over mutt?
"Of course," Irv accepted this humiliation easily.
No, this was already completely unacceptable!
* * *
\ \ \
Twenty minutes later, both men were entering the bridge of the Colicoid Swarm.
"Why hold back?" Vane asked. "We should have given them some shampoo too, and picked out their fleas. If you're going to grovel, grovel properly."
"Sounds like the start of a very interesting story," Aut-O commented.
"I don't know what this guy is thinking, but we just got scammed out of blasters, an astromech, got a hint that our fate is to be a minor back-up act, and there's going to be a party on our ship, but without us," Yazuo growled.
"I didn't sign up for this," Aut-O stated, watching Irv settle into the captain's chair. "What's going on, Commander?"
"I'll tell you, you tin can. You'll be crying machine oil," Vane promised.
"Everything is going according to plan," Irv replied. "Tracking station."
"Yes, sir?"
"Are the trackers on those mutts' ships working?" Irv asked, following the 'ugly' ships that had jumped with his gaze.
"Affirmative, Commander."
"Does the jump vector match the message transmission vector?"
"One hundred percent, sir."
"Well, excellent," Irv smiled. "Let's wait until these stinkers reach their base, then we'll pay them a visit and give Ompiah his second gift — from our turbolasers and anti-ship missiles."
"With a ninety-seven percent probability, we will be attacked in the near future," Aut-O stated, having finished listening to Vane's account.
"And I did everything to make Ompiah send his entire scrap-heap fleet here," Irv stated, making it clear he hadn't told the garbage dogs he commanded a battle-ready ship, but a battered tub, for no reason.
Vane appreciated the commander's tactical move.
He'd pulled the wool over the dogs' eyes, told them there weren't two hundred hardened boarding-party killers on board, just two men and a bunch of stupid droids. He'd presented the Colicoid Swarm as a pile of scrap, armed worse than a light cruiser...
Yes, that was practically an invitation to a party!
"Oh, we're going to have fun," Vane smiled, barely concealing his anticipation of the long-awaited bloodshed.
* * *
\ \ \
"The Mieru'kar sector has fallen," I concluded after my conversation with Captain Anilex.
"No data has come in yet from Captain Irving on the 'Hit'Tor Group,'" the commander of the Chimaera reminded me.
"I'm confident he'll bring us good news shortly," I replied. "The results of Saphon Peldon's's interrogation are intriguing."
"His group has explored a considerable portion of the Mieru'kar territory," Pellaeon agreed. "This will greatly aid our colonization forces in developing the new territories."
"Exactly, Captain," I agreed. "Any new reports from the Dominion?"
"Yes, a few," Gilad replied. "They concern our stormtrooper armor production. Reverse engineering is bearing fruit, so our new stormtroopers will soon be provided with all necessary equipment. We'll start with the standard sets we have, then move on to more specialized ones."
"Acceptable," I agreed. "However, I am more interested in the fate of the Phase-I, Phase-II, and other Clone Wars-era armor sets captured at base RZ7–6118–23. Our armed forces are growing. We don't have enough stormtroopers. Yet we have armor we cannot use to equip our own troops. Consequently, the cloning cylinders work exclusively to replenish fleet crews. The number of stormtroopers is steadily decreasing. I trust I don't need to remind you that members of the Stormtrooper Corps currently serving in any of the Imperial Remnants will not show initiative and come to us wanting to volunteer. We must supply our own stormtroopers. Until our stormtrooper armor production reaches peak capacity, we will have to limit the cloning of these soldiers. At the same time, we have already discussed this point — for the rapid equipping of the stormtrooper legions, we must use captured Clone Wars-era armor, specifically Phase-II, as it most closely matches stormtrooper armor. What's the difficulty, Captain?"
"Its standardization drastically narrows the possibility of wide-scale use," Pellaeon reminded me.
"I am aware of that, Captain," I agreed. "The question is something else. My order to locate Boba Fett has still not been carried out. Why? I left it under your supervision."
Pellaeon looked away, clearly embarrassed.
"Sir, I have already given the order to search among the stormtroopers and army personnel for a man of suitable build, but..."
"That is not what I asked," I stated sternly. I don't like these evasions. "Boba Fett, Captain. Where is Boba Fett?"
"Sir, you were in the Unknown Regions, so you are probably not up to date on the situation, and the news of this event didn't exactly make prime time... Boba Fett died shortly before the Battle of Endor."
"Yes, he fell into the sarlacc pit," I nodded, causing Pellaeon to tense again. "Just as death is not grounds for disobeying an order, so falling into a sarlacc's stomach does not guarantee death."
"Sir, you are most likely referring to the rumors that Boba Fett survived, because the galaxy has seen bounty hunters in similar armor on multiple occasions," Pellaeon hastened to say. "These are nothing but imitators; we have verified this fact..."
I could, of course, enlighten him with data from R2-D2's memory related to the episode after Fett fell into the sarlacc's mouth. Before Skywalker left Tatooine, Jawas managed to steal the astromech and brought him to their sandcrawler. There, the droid discovered a half-dead Fett who had lost his memory, and so he helped Solo and Organa, who had attacked the sandcrawler to free R2.
But that's a pointless episode, because Fett ended up back in the sarlacc's stomach and escaped from there another time.
Why am I so sure Pellaeon is wrong?
Simple — during the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, Boba Fett helped fight them. And later, he trained Jaina Solo so she could kill her own brother.
And that wasn't one of Jango Fett's modified clones.
Those actions were performed by Boba himself, unmodified.
"Sir, I think it would be more correct to simply use our existing Fett clones from the Blizzard Force unit," Pellaeon suggested.
"Cloning modified clones is a waste of resources," I stated. "Calculate the progression, Captain. The clones created on Kamino aged twice as fast as a normal human. If we clone such a clone, how many times faster will they age?"
"But replenishing the stormtrooper legions..."
"Is an important, but not critical, measure," I stated. "Our current campaign requires fleet actions and minimal ground force operations. That is why we are using droidekas, droids, pirates, and privateers — to reduce stormtrooper losses in open combat. But this cannot continue indefinitely. Boba Fett is alive — my informants are certain of this."
"I apologize, sir, but the special operations groups I sent after him found nothing to indicate the real Fett," Pellaeon said regretfully.
"How long have you known this?" I asked.
"The last report came in from group twenty-two seventeen minutes ago. They followed the trail of the supposed Boba Fett, but it turned out to be a mercenary named Jodo Kast. Who, incidentally, is already dead. Of course, I should have reported it immediately, but I decided such information could wait for the standard report to you."
Which was to say, until now.
Seventeen minutes...
Yes, in a process like finding Boba Fett, seventeen minutes won't make or break the weather.
Especially since finding him requires more qualified personnel than military intelligence, namely the Noghri.
"I see," I said. "Well, you're right, Captain. The information is important, but not critical. You've done great work. Pass me all the material — the hunt for Boba Fett will be handled by my agents."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon replied, leaving my quarters.
Meanwhile, the Chimaera continued marking off parsec after parsec in hyperspace, leading the fleet deep into the galaxy along regional routes.
We weren't rushing to Rendili; we weren't hurrying into traps.
Everything would happen without my direct intervention.
I just needed to be in the right place at the right time.
* * *
"Twenty-six 'freaks' and a flagship," Vane whistled, looking at the scanner screen.
"Hangar deck — prepare to launch fighter droids," Irvin ordered. "Be ready to activate defense systems and launch small craft on my command."
"I recommend raising the deflectors now," the head of Aut-O said.
"Don't react until they close to a distance of twenty units," Irvin commanded. "Prepare missile launchers to engage the enemy. Set target locks for the homing heads."
"Maybe it's time to prep the turbolasers for firing, or should we let them get closer?" the half-blood inquired.
"We'll shoot at point-blank range," Irvin said. "Prepare to jam all signals as soon as we open fire. Are three of our recent acquaintances among these ships?"
"Yes, sir, Captain," the B-1 responded. "Engine signatures match."
In the past, if he'd been stuck with outdated Neimoidian equipment, this part of the plan would have had to be scrapped. About forty years ago, around the start of the Separatist Crisis, fighter droids, like the Trade Federation's ground forces, were controlled from a single relay ship. Destroying or damaging it would knock out the entire Trade Federation army.
This flaw had been discovered during the Blockade of Naboo, after which the Neimoidians and other future Separatists drew the proper conclusions.
"Message from the Ompiah's flagship," noted a B-1 from the bridge crew. "We're ordered to prepare to receive him aboard."
"Tell him we're ready," the commander of the Colicoid Swarm said, not even hiding his eager smile.
"Got it, got it..."
Irv watched as the enemy's fighters and their absurd flagship, which looked more like a cross between the rear section of a Venator and a construction schizophrenic's fever dream, approached his starship, which was pretending to be a flying wreck.
It was unknown how or under what circumstances Ompiah had gotten his hands on an old Republic ship, but it was clearly in bad shape.
The triangular bow section was simply missing, and now, with good magnification, it was clear the pirates were using bulkheads between compartments as the ship's front end, reinforced with shoddy homemade welds.
The side hangars were intact, but only the left one was operational.
The numerous add-ons and ridiculous scaffolding haphazardly placed around the deck superstructure looked absurd, grotesque, and pointed directly to the lack of taste in whoever had made this scrap heap fly.
"Sir, distance to the enemy is twenty units!" the B-1 reported.
"The pirate MLCs still haven't reformed from their attack formation?" Irvin inquired.
"No, sir."
"Oh, just let us blast them already!" Vane said impatiently.
"We'll blast them, no doubt about it," Irvin promised. "We'll turn their fleet into scrap."
"So what are we waiting for?" Aut-O asked.
"From the looks of it, these ships are all Ompiah has," the commander of the Colicoid Swarm concluded.
"So what?" Yazuo didn't understand.
"Destroy them all here and now — it'll make storming the base easier," Aut-O was the first to give the correct answer.
"Exactly," Irvin agreed. "Well, the games are over. Raise the deflectors to full power, aim all weapons, activate the launchers. No mercy, no prisoners — destroy the ships of the 'Hi'tor Group'."
The fake plating on the hull, hiding the weapons and launchers, flew off as soon as the bridge issued the command to the pyrotechnic charges.
What had previously looked like a monolithic section of the hull poured torrents of turbolaser fire and anti-ship missiles onto the enemies approaching from the starboard side.
With the first turbolaser strike, the 'freaks' caught in the trap lost half their number. Some of them, specifically built to withstand laser cannon fire by borrowing deflector field generators from X-Wings or 'Headhunters,' now fell victim to a power of fire they couldn't handle.
Enemy starships exploded, forming tiny spheres of fire and debris, while the sporadic fire from the once-Republic cannons proved unable to damage the Colicoid Swarm's deflectors.
But the anti-ship missiles...
A few of them met their fate, shot down and detonating long before reaching their target.
But the rest, feeling neither pain nor regret for their lost kin, reached their destination.
In the past, Venators and Providences could fight each other on equal footing, and such a clash always turned into a heated battle until one side was completely destroyed.
The fewer turbolasers on the Republic ship were compensated for by their rate of fire, power, and volley accuracy, while the Separatist guns were never known for great precision.
Now, fate favored only the Colicoid Swarm's numerous artillery.
Without its formidable wing of fighters, this mutilated Venator knew rage and humiliation, shuddering and deforming with each impact from the anti-ship missiles.
Its remaining point-defense guns worked themselves to the breaking point but couldn't handle the streams of missiles.
Dozens upon dozens of cone-shaped projectiles pierced the armor, detonating in the ship's internal compartments, turning their warhead's explosive filler into gas heated to the melting point of metal.
Accompanied by shockwaves, streams of fire deformed the long-unrepaired hull, smashing through bulkheads, decks, twisting and melting the structural members.
The ridiculous superstructures on the upper hull of the Star Destroyer were swept away by the Colicoid Swarm's turbolaser fire when the deflectors of the old ship, offended by the current crew's disrespect for the technology, failed under the assault of its longtime rival's crimson turbolaser fire.
The Venator burned in the finest tradition of bonfires where you toss dry kindling.
Every compartment, every airlock, every porthole — everything was a conflagration.
The old ship was mortally wounded when the fighter droids breached the hangar's blast doors and began blasting it from the inside.
In just half a minute, the contents of the hangar deck detonated — and the ship turned into a fireball.
He had to squint, as the Colicoid Swarm's bridge shielding system couldn't quite handle the intensity of the flash.
The Venator's reactors detonated, and the old warship finally found its rest.
Dishonored by bloody pirates and their deeds, the Republic Star Destroyer met its death in its final battle.
"So, we're done," Vane summed up, watching as the enemy ship signatures vanished from the scanner screen. "Are we flying to the base now?"
"Not so fast," Irvin declared. "We have work to finish here."
"But we already killed all the pirates..." Yazuo was surprised. "What else is there to stick around for?"
"Oh, not all of them," Irvin declared. "Order to all fighter droids. Begin search and destroy operations against enemy escape pods."
Fifteen minutes later, it was all over.
"Report to the Chimaera," the commander of the Colicoid Swarm ordered. "We're done."